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“Excuse me?”

“You don’t seem to have any issues that would require a service dog,” said the woman.

Before Mike could reply, Rick leaned across him. “I got this.” He turned to the woman. “Look, Karen, that hound is not only a decorated war hero he’s also my anger management dog. And if you don’t mind your own business, you’re about to find out exactly what service he provides.” He grinned manically at the woman, who immediately leaned back and pretended to be interested in the airline magazine. “Everyone’s got to stick their noses in other people’s business,” exclaimed Rick as he relaxed into his seat.

The taxi to the terminal and unloading at the gate went without further incident, and soon they were at the hire desk with their luggage.

“Sorry about the car,” said the clerk. “There’s a big tech thing in town and all the full-size SUVs went first.”

“No problems, we’ll make do.” Rick signed for the car, took the keys, and they made their way out to the rental parking lot.

“Are you kidding me?” said Mike as he eyeballed the Hyundai Venue ‘SUV’. “We’re not clowns. How are we going to fit in it?”

Rick popped the trunk. “Come on, man, you played Tetris as a kid.” He shoved his duffel and the surveillance pack inside.

“Bro, Axe is barely going to fit in the back.”

“Do you want me to swap it for a convertible?” Rick stuffed Mike’s bag into the trunk and used his weight to jam it shut. “I checked four other rental places, and this was the biggest car I could get. Plus, we’ve got a long drive, and we’ll get great mileage.”

“Man, you really are embracing fatherhood, aren’t you? Did you pack a pair of cargo shorts and some New Balance sneakers?” Mike opened the rear door, and Axe jumped inside. Then he climbed into the passenger’s seat.

“Not every dad has to drive a truck,” said Rick as he opened the driver’s door and slid in behind the wheel.

Their shoulders and upper arms were almost touching. Rick exhaled. “OK, slightly larger would have been better.”

“That’s what she said,” Mike shot back.

“Oh, so we’ve had a role reversal,” said Rick as he drove them out of the parking lot, heading for the highway north. “Mick the Dick and Richard the Responsible.”

Mike laughed as he messaged the group, and Rick took them north on the I-5 toward the Canadian border.

“Should be there in six hours,” he said.

“Cool, no fresh intel updates. Deb’s people did a scrub on social media, but Kane has zero accounts.” Mike glanced over his shoulder to check on Axe and saw that the dog had managed to curl up on the narrow back seat. “They’ll keep digging. We’ll check in again when we get to Victoria.”

Traffic was light, and the team breezed through border security at the crossing point south of Vancouver. A friendly Canadian official took a cursory glance at Axe’s credentials before waving them through. Crossing to Vancouver Island on the fast ferry, they drove directly to their Airbnb rental, a three-bedroom house on the outskirts of the city. Once they’d unloaded their gear, Mike checked in with the team. With no additional intelligence on offer, they decided to give their target location, the Grey Beaver, a once-over.

Situated on the major highway north of the city, the drinking establishment was best described as a trucker dive bar. Positioned in the middle of a parking lot, it was a large wooden building with an A-frame roof and the flickering corpse of a neon sign.

“What a shit hole,” said Rick as he pulled the Hyundai into the parking lot.

“The Beaver looks like it’s got leprosy,” said Mike. The painted sign featuring one of Canada’s most iconic animals was flaking.

“Plenty of bikes,” Rick observed as he went to reach his backpack from the rear footwell. Mike’s shoulder was blocking his way. He sighed, stepped out of the car, retrieved the luggage, and patted Axe.

“You guard the clown car,” Mike said to the dog as he climbed out.

The two men strolled toward the bar. “Nice bikes,” observed Mike as they passed a row of Harleys.

Smoke stung their eyes as they stepped through the front door directly into the main bar. The place smelled like beer, tobacco, and moldy gym socks. Rick took point and locked eyes with the barmaid, a slim Caucasian with heavily tattooed arms and a face full of piercings.

“What can I get you?” she asked in a lilting Canadian accent. Her dark eyes gave Rick the once-over before meeting his.

“Two beers, whatever’s good on tap,” said Rick.

“I haven’t seen you two before,” she said, taking two glasses and placing them under the beer taps.

“We’re not from around here. Came up to meet a buddy,” said Rick.